


It's Cold Out Here

by phunWorks



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phunWorks/pseuds/phunWorks
Summary: Neither of them were supposed to see another day, let alone in a hospital.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since I've written anything. I've been having a difficult time getting my thoughts down in print. Anyway, I hope you like it. ||-//

"Would you answer me? Just one fucking word to let me know you're hearing me," Jacob shouted.

"I never knew us being roommates made us married." I never turned around when I spoke. I had no intention to do so. I didn't turn around when my bedroom door slammed shut. I stayed focused on the screen before me. You ever notice how people rarely ever ask the real questions? I do. Like just now, he was so determined to figure out why I wasn't speaking but neglected to see that I'm typing instead. Let alone ask me what I'm typing.

Well, I'm typing my suicide note. 

I'm sure if Jacob knew he'd probably be even more pissed off. I'm supposed to go to him when things get this bad, that's what my care team at the hospital told me to do before they released me last month. The thing is, if I really want to die, why would I seek out help? Why would I confide in anyone? It's my business. I've never had my own anything, least I could have is my own demise. I wish people could understand that. As I'm writing, I'm listening to the same song on repeat, it's been my new obsession that comes and goes. 

**"I just wanna wake up and feel weightless...."**  Yeah, tell me about it. All I feel is weight... and fear. So much fucking fear. After dealing with this as long as I have, I think I deserve an out. After my diagnosis, everyone said it would get better. I chuckle at the thought.  _The nightmare's over. You survived._ Fuck you, it's over. It's still here and it plays over and over, never once letting up. And no one will ever understand that. They all wonder when I'll get over it. Isn't that a crucial symptom of PTSD? 

Anyway, I'm planning to end my life tonight. Just a few more sentences and editing (even in this suicidal tunnel vision I'm still a perfectionist), then it's off to the woods I go. 


	2. Chapter 2

The wrapping paper decorated in pictures of a married couple was torn to shreds all over the apartment's living room. All of the boxes contained exactly what one would ask for when starting off a marriage. Too bad there was no marriage to speak of. Erin up and left me alone in this apartment I'd rented for the two of us. An apartment that I can't afford by myself. Thank god my parents scrounged up enough money to help pay for these first couple months. 

The apartment isn't what has me so upset, though. Debt really doesn't scare me, nor does bad credit. What scares me the most is letting someone get that close to me, only to have them walk away when things become "too hard".  _Too hard?!_ If dealing with me is too hard, she would have killed herself eons ago actually being me.

....wait a minute.... That doesn't sound too bad now, does it? And that is a nice, high end toaster unwrapped and ready to go. I got up off the floor and picked up the silver tool. My legs moved casually toward the bathroom without me ordering them to do so. It's so easy, I'm not even having to think.

The choice is mine. The water is ready. The toaster is plugged in. Maybe I didn't think enough.

That's when it hits me.  _What am I doing?_ The pounding from my chest takes over, it's all I can hear, all I can feel. What's happening to me? Fuck! This needs to stop. It all needs to stop. That's when the pounding in my ears sounds from the front door of the apartment. I take a few deep breaths, hoping against hope I can calm down enough to seem okay. 

I walk casually towards the front door and open without looking through the peephole. 

....that's when my dad runs to the bathroom in a hurry. It's when my dad sees the evidence of my psyche. Fuck....


	3. Chapter 3

"Breathe... please, j-just br-breathe," I pleaded with myself as my legs dangled off the tree branch. I habitually brought my hand to my face, not too hard, just enough to get my focus. "Come on don't be a pussy. You know what you have to d-do." My breath still shook but I kept counting out the seconds for each inhale and exhale. There was a heaviness in my chest that hadn't gone away for two months, or at least been this noticeable for two months. A part of me wishes I'd brought my cellphone, just to listen to something one last time. The silence in the forest was deafening, as if the trees and wild life were holding their breath awaiting my decision. Not that my decision hadn't already been made. I didn't know what was stopping me. Guilt? Who did I feel guilty for? My parents? They didn't care, they never would. Why do I always feel so fucking guilty? I exhale, not realizing I had been holding my breath. I'm not going to get many more of these so I should savor them, right? Not that breathing was doing me any good. If it was, how'd I end up here?

That's the question that people should be asking. One I should probably ask myself. Granted, I don't believe there's a single reason why anyone ends up in this position. I think it's a collective "fuck you" from life that pushes people to this point. So, to give one reason as to how I ended up on this branch wouldn't be the whole truth. Isn't that considered lying? But I digress. I have that habit, of going everywhere in my mind without reaching the actual point. Focus has never been my strong suit. Not when my habitat exists inside my skull more than anywhere else. I suppose there's no real point in trying to focus in on the reasons I've ended up here. Might as well just get it over with so I can finally rest. I use more strength than necessary and slip off the branch. 

"Tyler!" Shit. 


	4. Chapter 4

"You're getting help goddamn it! I'm not losing my son," my father yelled in the car. It's been a long ride, heading to the local ER for a psychiatric evaluation. Pfft, like it would actually fucking do anything to mend what's broken in me. The truth is, losing Erin was the straw that broke the camel's back, but this was a long time coming. Has been since mom died. "How could you even think of doing that to me?" It feels like a knife is piercing my chest. It wasn't meant to hurt him, didn't he realize that? 

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. Telling him that I've felt this way since I was a little kid and that this wouldn't have been my first attempt, it just doesn't seem like the right time. Besides, might as well blame this on Erin, considering I don't care if she lives or dies at this point. Okay, that wasn't true, but I want it to be. The fact of the matter is I'd still take her back if she asked me to. I remember asking to marry her, I was so nervous that I almost puked all over her shoes. It didn't do my anxiety any favors but I always thought it was worth it. Yeah, totally worth being left behind like some orphaned puppy. 

"'I'm sorry' isn't going to make me feel any better, Josh. After your mother-"

"This isn't about mom or you or anyone else but me dad," I raised my voice slightly, not enough to yell, I don't have the energy to yell right now.

"How could this not be about your mother? You haven't been right since she... since she passed away," he choked out. I know it's hard for him to even bring her up, but it's also low.

"Been a lot longer than that," I whispered to myself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," I said. The car fell silent and I was grateful for it. Granted silence has never been a friend, right now I needed it. Especially since I'm probably being forced to go to the loony bin. I shouldn't call it that, but I'm pissed and I don't really give a shit if I degrade myself at the moment. I mean, I deserve to be degraded, invalidated and tossed out like trash. I wish people would just accept that I'm trash and do away with me. It would make it a lot easier to take my life after the hospital lets me go. Hopefully that will be today, but I don't know how this stuff works. Not sure I want to. I mean, I could just open the door since we're on the freeway. Just fall out... it'd be so easy. I felt my hand reaching for the handle and before I knew it the door was unlatched.

"Josh!" My body, moving without me, began unbuckling the seat belt. A hand grabs my shirt, pulling me back in while I can visibly see the car slowing down and coming to a full stop. I didn't realize I was breathing so fast. "That's it! stay in this car, I'm calling an ambulance to take you the rest of the way."


	5. Chapter 5

My eyelids were still closed, light burning through them caused me to see red eventually forced my eyes open. The blinding florescent light made me squint my eyes as I looked around to take in my surroundings. There was a steady beep sounding from the monitor above me. An IV bag (probably full of saline) was dripping steadily into the line that went into my vein. Fuck, I need to pee. I turned my head as the door in the far corner of the small hospital room opened softly. 

"Mr. Joseph," the white coat addressed me like I'm my damn father.

"It's Tyler," my voice came out rough and an unexpected pain consumed my neck.

"Alright Tyler," the doctor corrected himself. "Looks like we have a bit of a situation. This injury to your neck, which bruised your larynx, was self inflicted. Am I correct?"

 _No shit_. I nodded my head as little as possible. I can't decide which is worse, talking or moving my head up and down. 

"Well, I'm going to have a social worker come in here and give you a psychiatric evaluation. The evaluation will determine if you are still a danger to yourself. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, you're very likely heading for forced inpatient psychiatric care. Hopefully there's a bed for you in our behavioral health unit. If there isn't, then you're most likely going to be transported to the state hospital. I would like to avoid sending you there if at all possible-" I quit listening. I've failed. I've failed once more to be free of this fucking shit world. The anger I usually keep subdued isn't staying down like it should. "Want to talk to me here, Tyler?"

"Fuck you," my voice wasn't nearly as powerful as I'm sure my gaze was. Unintentional or not, the doctor looked away and down at his papers. 

"NO! FUCK YOU! GET OFF ME!" The doctor looked up, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't completely thrown off of my own temper tantrum. 

"Excuse me, Tyler," the doc said as he quickly exited the room. 


End file.
